


Through The Window

by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dancing Stiles, Don’t copy to another site, Fluff, Getting to Know Each Other, M/M, Mutual Pining, Office Romance, Pining, Workaholic Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-24 22:58:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17713271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wasterella/pseuds/isthatbloodonhisshirt
Summary: He had no idea how he’d first begun to immediately notice the idiot in the building next door, but now that hehadnoticed, it was impossible tostopnoticing.





	Through The Window

**Author's Note:**

  * For [adara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/adara/gifts).



> You know why <3<3<3

“ _If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends._ ” He was an octave too high. He was definitely an octave too high, because it was hard for him to maintain the same range when he went to the next part. “ _Make it last forever, friendship never ends._ ”

Stiles Stilinski danced his way to the front towards the printer, bobbing his head in time to the music and sliding on past his coworker’s empty desk. Reaching the printer at the front, he spun in a fast circle, slapping his hand against the output tray and snagging his piece of paper before dancing his way back to his desk.

It was well past ten at night already, and he knew tomorrow morning was going to be a fucking bitch if he didn’t get home to bed soon, but it was hard to motivate himself to leave when he was on such a roll. The cleaners had already come and gone, the entire office was empty, and he was getting _so much work_ done!

His entire day consisted mostly of people asking him question, endless emails, and a plethora of phone calls. He didn’t have time to do any of the paperwork his boss consistently dropped on his desk, and while his dad frowned at the fact that he did free overtime to catch up, Stiles didn’t mind most of the time.

It allowed him some peace and quiet, a way for him to just do his work and actually _enjoy_  it. The headset he wore made listening to music on the internet easy, and he was so fucking thankful for the nineties playlist he’d found on Spotify. So far he’d spent the whole night dancing around the empty office while singing at almost the top of his lungs to bands like N’Sync, the Backstreet Boys, the Spice Girls and S Club 7.

It was a total throwback Thursday, and barring the brief awkward moment when the night security guard had done his rounds on the floor, nobody was there to watch him make a fool of himself—the guy was kind of used to it by now, anyway.

And dancing around helped him be less freaked out, given there was literally _nobody_  there—except the guard, obviously, but he had forty floors to make rounds on, he wasn’t likely to pass by again while Stiles was still there.

Continuing to hum to himself after slapping the page onto his desk and falling heavily into his desk chair, he straightened out the stack of papers he’d been working on, checking them over one last time before initialling the top corner, snapping a bull clip into place, and tossing it onto his ever growing pile of completed paperwork.

He felt really good about his progress, because he’d started the day with at least thirty stacks of documents to review in his tray, and he was down to four. He really, really, _really_  wanted to clear all of them up before he left, but he knew that would be a ridiculous endeavour. It took almost half an hour to do one file, and he didn’t want to push his luck considering he had to be back in the office bright and early at six in the morning the following day.

Technically he started at seven, but if he got in at six, it would give him an hour to clear out the emails he would undoubtedly be receiving from the east coast before he’d even showed up. Everyone needed him to help them with something or another, and some days he wondered how he was still sane.

If he heard one more fucking person say “Hey Stiles?” today, he was probably going to lose his God damn fucking mind. So it was probably a good thing he was the only one crazy enough to still be there.

Sadly, this wasn’t even a one-time thing. The night guard doing his rounds probably didn’t even react anymore when he saw Stiles, regardless of the fact that Stiles himself still got embarrassed whenever the man caught him dancing around like an idiot. The guy probably got used to it two years ago, since Stiles was a workaholic apparently and staying late was his thing.

Who needed a life when work could complete you so well? Not Stiles! Clearly!

No wonder he was single.

“Oh!” Stiles said, delighted, when the song changed in his ear. He hadn’t heard _Backstreet’s Back_ in fucking _years_! He wondered if he still remembered the actual dance from the end of the music video.

He chair-danced while organizing all of his papers, figuring he could at least print out a few items he would need for tomorrow morning before heading out. Getting everything printed, he danced his way to the printer in time for the end of the song and valiantly attempted to replicate the old dance he remembered so well from his childhood.

Feeling pretty good about himself for having more or less succeeded, Stiles snatched the papers from the output tray, turned to head back to his desk, and froze.

Honestly, he’d never looked around before while hanging out at work late. The buildings around them were always dimly lit and deserted at this hour of the evening since the area he worked in tended to boast all the same office hours. Seven to three, eight to four, nine to five. No one ever hung out late except for Stiles, and he’d never noticed anyone in any of the neighbouring buildings before.

Which was exactly why he froze, because he’d turned to head back for his desk, glancing up briefly, and had caught movement out of the corner of his eye. When he’d looked out the far window—floor to ceiling, showing Stiles sick dance moves _perfectly_  at the printer—he noticed that there was a group of people standing at the window in the building across the narrow street, one floor up.

They were far enough away, their windows also floor to ceiling, that it allowed both Stiles and this group of random people full views of one another.

All four of them were standing at the window, staring right at him.

One of the men cheerfully raised one hand and waived while the girl with them exploded into raucous laughter, doubling over and clutching at her stomach while she continued to positively howl. Stiles honestly wasn’t sure he couldn’t hear her from across the street through both windows.

Cheeks burning with embarrassment, Stiles turned and hurried back to his desk, at least slightly mollified that he was far back enough in his cubicle that the neighbouring desks and one pillar blocked their view of him.

Sitting in his chair and setting his papers down on his desk, Stiles proceeded to bang his head once, very hard, on his work surface. It stung, but not nearly as much as his pride currently did. How long had they been standing there? Had they seen him dancing all night? What were they even _doing_  there?!

Not that he kept track of the comings and goings of all the buildings around him, but he was fairly certain the building next door had regular office hours up until literally yesterday. Nobody had been there last night when he’d stayed past nine!

Maybe they’d broken in?

No, that was ridiculous, because they were all smartly dressed, two of them had been holding coffee cups, and the one who’d waved at him was holding a stack of paperwork. Maybe they were burning the midnight oil, like Stiles.

Either way, he was done for the night. Raising his head, he organized all of his papers and then stood to pack away his things. Throwing his hoodie on over his dress shirt, he yanked his messenger bag onto his shoulder and then slowly moved forward, trying to peek around one of the cubicles to see if the group was still there.

They were, but not at the window. One of them was behind the desk now, rubbing at his face while the other three stood by, clearly listening to what he was saying. Whatever they were talking about, it looked pretty serious.

None of his business, though. He had a home to get to with a bed calling his name. He might even get four hours of sleep if he managed to make it back within the hour.

Darting out of the row of desks, he detoured to go towards the corridor in the opposite direction of the window. It was longer to the exit of the secured area he worked in by going this way, but if he walked the other way, they would be able to see him almost the _entire_  way down the corridor, and he was way too embarrassed to allow that.

Once he was at the elevators, he groaned and buried his face in his hands. He knew he’d get over it, it wasn’t a big deal. He’d been embarrassed when the night guard had caught him the first time, but now he only felt a little awkward. Sure, he still got embarrassed, but nothing close to how he’d felt that first time.

These people had caught him, and if they happened to stick around and catch him again, well, it’d be less embarrassing the second time, he was sure.

He hoped.

“I hate my life,” he sighed, stepping into the lift when the doors opened, and thunking his head with a whine against the mirrored side once he’d hit the ground floor button.

He’d probably never get caught a second time. Those people probably wouldn’t ever stick around this late again.

* * *

He had no idea how he’d first begun to immediately notice the idiot in the building next door, but now that he _had_  noticed, it was impossible to _stop_  noticing.

Derek Hale had fought against the move downtown tooth and nail when his uncle had suggested it. They were in a great location before, with cheap rent, luxuriously large offices, and great parking. But, according to Peter, their clients were beginning to dwindle in number because nobody wanted to drive all the way out to their office.

And so, a change had to be made. A majority of the higher net worth clients tended to work in the downtown core, so when a spot opened up, Peter had grabbed it immediately and promptly advised the whole office they were moving.

It was expensive as all hell, his office was the size of a fucking bathroom stall, and he spent almost twenty minutes looking for parking every fucking morning. But, to be fair to Peter, they’d gotten eight walk-ins their first day, with more coming as the week progressed, so he had to count it as a win.

Settling in had been a challenge, given all of them used to have their own offices, and now they didn’t have that so much anymore. The Partners had their own offices, of course, but some of the lawyers and paralegals had been forced into tiny cubicles. It was _not_  ideal, especially since the lawyers had to use the meeting rooms for private client meetings now instead of their own offices.

Derek hated everything about the move, especially since it had been conducted in the middle of a huge case for him. But, as much as he hated admitting it, if not for that move in the middle of his case, he never would’ve been at work late.

And if he hadn’t been at work late, he never would’ve seen the dancing idiot in the building next door.

Derek had no idea what company the guy worked for, but he definitely knew he worked like a dog. He often saw him in the office late at night, well past the hours Derek usually left at, and the earliest Derek had ever arrived at work in the morning, he _still_  hadn’t beaten the guy in.

He felt kind of bad for him, actually. He seemed to be the only one who ever stuck around all the time, long after everyone else had left. Of course, he probably didn’t mind it so much considering he tended to dance—and probably sing, if the pretending-to-hold-a-microphone thing was any indication—but still. It made Derek wonder about his job and his life.

Sure, being a Partner at his uncle’s firm meant Derek himself lacked time in his social life, but he still worked hard to hang out with his friends at least once a week. It helped they all worked together, but even the ones he didn’t work with he saw for a drink sometimes before heading home, since they all worked downtown.

The dancing guy next door didn’t seem to ever do anything other than work. It made Derek wonder if he just didn’t have anyone to spend time with, or if he was miserable and lonely and working helped distract him.

That, or he was _severely_  overworked and the place was _horrendously_  understaffed. Which—it could be. Derek didn’t know.

He kind of wanted to ask. A part of him wondered if he could make a huge sign and stick it in his window, see if he got a response.

The only reason he didn’t—aside from it being extremely out of character for him—was because he tried not to draw attention to himself. He liked watching the dancing guy in the next building, and he knew that whenever it was noticed he was there, the man didn’t dance as much. He would bob his head or wiggle his hips, but he didn’t go full Michael Jackson.

Whenever Derek was at work late, or stressing about a case, or frustrated about a loss, he just stood at the window with a coffee and watched the guy next door. He couldn’t see him when he was at his desk from his office, but he _could_  from Peter’s. Sometimes he went in there to get a better look at him—he was fucking adorable when he danced in his chair, Derek caught him doing the _Macarena_  the other day—but most of the time he just stood in his own office since the guy got up to go to the printer a lot.

Derek hoped he wasn’t being creepy, he just honestly enjoyed the guy’s energy. Despite his long hours and how hard he obviously worked, he always seemed so energetic and happy when he was dancing around the office. It had become so relaxing watching him that Derek almost felt tempted to record him sometimes.

He didn’t, because that would _definitely_  be creepy, but it made him curious about who this person was.

“Still here?”

Derek didn’t even turn, listening to the other man approach him. He stopped right beside Derek, hands in his pockets while the two of them watched the guy across the street sway from side to side, using his pen as a microphone while waiting for something to finish scanning at the printer.

“Working hard, I see,” Vernon Boyd commented after they’d both stood watching the other man until he disappeared from sight back at his desk.

“Could say the same to you.”

“I finished up. Heading out.”

Derek just grunted and took a sip of his coffee. It was hard not to wince. It had gone cold, and the grounds were floating in the remnants of liquid in his cup, but he was too lazy to make another pot. He shouldn’t be drinking too much coffee anyway, he had to be up early tomorrow to meet a client and talk her out of her decision.

He hated getting stuck with the nasty divorce settlements. Divorce settlements were fine when he got the amicable ones, which was usually what Peter assigned him, but every now and then he got stuck with these ones full of animosity and he couldn’t keep his temper half the time.

There was a reason Boyd usually handled these, but he was working four of them right now, and as much of a dick as Peter was, he tried to be fair sometimes.

“Rough day?” Boyd asked when Derek made no move to leave. Or answer.

“She wants the kids,” Derek said quietly, shifting his gaze to Boyd. “Full custody, supervised visitations.”

“He cheated on her,” Boyd said with a shrug.

“And that warrants losing his children?” Derek didn’t condone infidelity, but taking someone’s kids away from them because they were mad was a low blow.

“So talk her out of it.”

“I’m trying,” Derek grumbled, looking back out the window when he caught movement in his peripheral. Dancing dude was back at the printer. “Meeting with her tomorrow to see if I can talk some sense into her.”

“That why you’re here watching him dance around like an idiot?” Boyd asked, though he’d turned to watch as well, suggesting it wasn’t only Derek who enjoyed the way he moved.

It was strange to realize it had happened by accident. Derek hadn’t even finished setting his office up fully the day they’d all seen the guy dancing. He and Boyd had been working late on their big case, and Boyd’s girlfriend Erica Reyes had come by with dinner for them. Isaac Lahey had still been working down the corridor, unpacking files because he needed to find specific ones for Peter’s first meeting the next morning.

They’d all convened in Derek’s office to eat while he was ho-humming the direction his desk was facing and had caught the movement out of the corner of his eye. Erica had thought it was hilarious, standing at the window watching this guy dance like an idiot, but Derek could tell she was enjoying it.

There was just something about the way he moved that was captivating, and before they knew it, all of them had just been... standing there. Watching him.

Derek was glad for the distance when the guy had turned to see them, because he was positive they’d all been embarrassed at being caught. But, Isaac just waved like an asshole, Erica had cracked up, and Boyd had commented that he was impressed the other man had remembered all the moves to the end of _Backstreet’s Back_.

Honestly, Derek was sometimes worried the guy would look over and see him watching and stop dancing like he always did, but he figured after that one time he’d learned not to look up. That, or Derek was exceptionally good at standing still and didn’t catch his attention anymore.

“You should talk to him,” Boyd said, Derek turning to cock an eyebrow at him.

“Why?”

Boyd shrugged. “You work all the time. He works all the time. Maybe you both need someone in your lives to stop you from working yourselves to death.”

“I’m nowhere _near_  as bad as him. I actually go home to sleep. Sometimes I wonder if he _does_.”

“Maybe he has a cot under his desk.” The corners of Boyd’s lips twitched and Derek scowled, turning back to the window, even though dancing guy had left the printer and moved out of sight again.

“He better not. I’m serious, Boyd. I show up, he’s already here. I leave, he’s still here. I came by on a Saturday once to grab some files to bring home, and he was drumming at the printer while waiting for something to finish printing. I don’t think he leaves.”

“All the more reason to say hi.” Boyd nudged him. “You like watching him, maybe you should introduce yourself instead of being creepy.”

“I’m not being creepy,” Derek insisted. “Besides, I never see him outside the building. He practically lives there, we were just talking about it, remember? I remember it fairly clearly, seeing as it happened not ten seconds ago.”

Boyd rolled his eyes, a rare occurrence for him, and nudged Derek again. “Just promise me if you ever see him outside work you’ll stop and say hi.”

“Sure,” Derek said easily, eyes returning to the printer, even though his mystery man wasn’t there. “I can do that.”

He only agreed because he knew he’d never see him outside of work.

Apparently, the universe just _loved_  laughing at him.

* * *

“Stiles. Stiles. _Stiles_!”

“What?” Stiles demanded, yanking his headset off and turning, frustrated, towards his boss. He had eighteen million things to do in the next hour, and he really didn’t have time for his boss’ ridiculous lectures.

If it had been important, he would’ve called him. Having him at his desk meant he was in trouble for something. He didn’t have _time_  to be in trouble, he was fucking _busy_!

He saw the associate in front of him turn to glance back at him, clearly needing to ask him a question, but they paused when they saw their boss at his desk and just sat there waiting, which was frustrating, because Stiles was sure their question could be answered by literally _anyone else_.

Why he’d agreed to take a more senior position in his department, he had no fucking idea. It wasn’t like the pay had gone up, just the workload.

“Are you even listening to me?”

Stiles turned back to his boss, rubbing at his face with both hands. “No. What?”

Chris Argent did _not_  look impressed. Stiles was just lucky the man had known him for so many years and he could get away with being borderline rude to him.

It helped that his best friend was dating Chris’ daughter, but Stiles had been working for Chris long before that relationship had developed, so it didn’t count.

“I said your dad called. You’ve been staying late again.”

“No,” Stiles said slowly, eying Chris to determine how pissed he was. “I haven’t.”

“When was the last time you took a lunch break?”

Stiles affected surprise. “We get lunch breaks in this factory?”

Chris did not look amused. “Your dad’s coming to drag you out to lunch. You _will_  go.” He pointed a finger at Stiles before he could even open his mouth to argue. “Whatever you’re working on can wait. It’ll still be here when you get back.”

“Yeah, that’s kind of the problem, the work doesn’t magically disappear from my desk,” Stiles said dryly.

Chris grabbed a stack of papers, gave Stiles a look, and said, “Poof. Magic. Go to lunch, Stiles. I’ll divvy this up while you put something in your body other than McDonalds.”

“Joke’s on you then,” Stiles called to his retreating back, “because that’s where I was headed!”

Chris just shook his head, disappearing around the corner with the stack of papers. He was probably going to drop them on Greenberg’s desk, which meant by the time Stiles got back from lunch, they’d ‘magically’ be on Stiles’ desk again. Greenberg was an idiot, how he hadn’t gotten fired yet, Stiles had _no_  idea.

The associate in front of him inched forward, and Stiles had to find his patience when he heard a hesitant, “Hey Stiles?”

“What’s up, buddy?”

The associate hesitantly asked his question, Stiles managing to answer without biting his head off since it was in their FAQs, and before anyone else could “Hey Stiles?” him, he got to his feet and yanked his hoodie on. Technically he wasn’t supposed to wear the hoodie to and from work, since anyone seeing him exit the secure area would know he worked there and it ‘looked unprofessional,’ but if Stiles wanted to rock a hoodie in the winter, then he fucking would.

If they increased his pay by about ten grand, maybe he’d make an effort and buy himself a stylish coat. As it was, he wasn’t made of money, and he liked his hoodie.

Heading out of the secure area quickly, glancing unintentionally towards the window across the street, he deflated when he noticed there was no one in the office.

The guy who worked there was kind of cute. After Stiles had gotten over his mortification at being caught, he’d actually started to try and look into the guy’s office during regular hours. They were a new group, since he didn’t recognize any of them, and the one guy was actually cute in a grouchy sort of way.

He and some of the girls in HR talked about him every now and then, since they had a better view from where they sat. It was easy to spy on him during the day, because there were so many people around Stiles doubted he’d recognize him as the weird dancing dude at night.

Not that he knew or made a habit of checking for the guy when he was dancing at night—some embarrassing moments were best left unknown—but he kind of wondered what his story was. He seemed to be around fairly late himself, and Stiles wondered what he did. Who the new group was next door. Not that he knew who the old group was, he didn’t go out of his way to learn what all the different businesses around him were, but still.

Sighing deeply once he’d entered the elevator, he nodded in greeting to someone from the next floor down when they entered.

“Hey,” he said with a small smile.

“What’s up?”

“My blood pressure,” Stiles informed him. He didn’t know that it was true, but it was probably true. Stiles was going to work himself to death, and eating McDonalds three times a day was probably unhealthy.

Actually, he was pretty sure someone had made a movie about that.

They parted in the lobby while Stiles headed across the street to McDonalds, pulling his phone out to text his dad. He had to be careful what he ate in front of him, because the sheriff was under the impression that Stiles ate healthy in solidarity with his restricted diet.

After checking where his dad was at, he determined he had time to scarf down something terrible and meet him afterwards with something _less_  terrible. Hurrying across the street to McDonalds, he ordered a cheeseburger with a large milkshake. Once he got his order, he scarfed the burger down while walking towards the healthy juice place a little ways down the street.

He pulled the lid off his milkshake when he neared the place, trying to determine if it looked enough like one of their peanut-butter and chocolate protein shakes. Maybe a little thick, but his dad wouldn’t notice.

Sighing to himself, he walked into the store and went to stand in line.

He so didn’t have time for this right now.

* * *

Derek almost walked into a pole.

It wasn’t something he usually did, because Derek was an adult, and he was dignified, and mature, so walking into things because he was distracted was definitely not a common occurrence for him.

The only reason it happened was because he’d been walking back from a meeting with a coffee in one hand and a bag of takeout in the other when he saw the dancing dude head into the Jamba Juice down the street.

He’d never seen him outside work before, mostly because Derek had noticed he never seemed to leave his desk, let alone take lunch.

Not that Derek was watching him or anything, because that would be a creepy thing to do. He just... happened to notice. So to see him out and about was kind of weird.

Though it was also interesting to see him walk into the Jamba Juice holding a McDonalds cup.

Derek didn’t mean to stick around, but his promise to Boyd popped into his head and he ended up sitting down on a bench right outside, watching the guy move slowly through the line until he reached the front. He went to stand at the end of the counter to wait on his drink, pulling his phone out and texting one handed before putting it back in his pocket.

After a moment, he received a green smoothie, and Derek frowned when he saw his dancing guy speaking to the service rep. After a few seconds, the associate handed over an empty cup with a lid, along with a straw.

Derek watched the dancing dude move to the counter, where he promptly pulled the lid off his McDonalds drink, and proceeded to dump its contents into the Jamba Juice cup. It looked like a milkshake, and Derek just watched, completely dumbfounded as to what he was doing.

Once the McDonalds cup was empty, it was thrown away and a lid was slapped onto the fake drink. Derek realized it looked a bit like a protein shake, though maybe a tad too thick. Anyone really looking at it would know in an instant it wasn’t a protein shake.

When dancing dude exited the Jamba Juice, before Derek could stand to begrudgingly introduce himself, another man appeared at the guy’s elbow, making him jump.

“Jesus, dad! Trying to give me your heart condition?” He handed over the green drink, which earned him a scowl and a reluctant hand reaching out for it.

“What the hell is this?”

“Apple’n’Greens smoothie,” was the easy response.

An exasperated sigh. “Stiles.”

Oh good, his name was Stiles. Though that was a horrendous name and Derek pitied him, but he’d take it. At least he had a name.

“What? It was the best thing I could find.” Stiles chased the straw of his drink with his tongue, finally getting it between his lips and sucking.

Derek didn’t know whether to be concerned or entertained at the way Stiles drank from straws. His entire mouth scrunched to one side, it was kind of adorable. A lot about him was adorable.

Oh no, Derek was getting _feelings_ , that couldn’t be good. He didn’t know anything _about_  Stiles, what if he turned out to be an asshole?

“Look, I’m suffering with you,” Stiles insisted, motioning his drink. “Solidarity for your diet, dad.”

“It’s cute you think I can’t tell that’s not a smoothie.”

“What? It is so!”

“Let me try it, then.”

“No, you have your own smoothie,” Stiles insisted, shielding his drink from his father.

The two of them bickered while they headed off in another direction and Derek was both relieved and disappointed at missing his chance to speak to him. It was probably for the best. He didn’t know what he’d have said, anyway. “Hi, I’m Derek, I work for the law firm across the street and when I get stressed, I like watching you dance, wanna grab a coffee?”

Yeah right. Though Derek would love to go dancing with Stiles. Sure, his moves were over-exaggerated and ridiculous, but he looked like someone who knew how to have a good time without caring what other people thought of him.

Sitting back down on the bench, Derek sighed and pulled his food out, resting his coffee on the seat beside him. He should really head back to the office, but a part of him was hoping he could catch Stiles on his way back. He just really wanted to know if his energy was as intoxicating in person as it was from across the street.

Probably more so, but he wanted to know first-hand.

He’d finished his meal and was halfway through his coffee with no sign of Stiles. Sighing and figuring he’d lost his chance, he stood and tossed his takeout container into the nearby trash can and then headed back for the office.

While he was waiting on the corner to cross the street, his eyes strayed to the building Stiles worked in, eying it for a few seconds. When the light changed to go in that direction, Derek turned at the last second and crossed, moving between people easily and stepping up onto the sidewalk.

Walking into the lobby, he looked around, never having ventured far outside his own building. It was nice, he supposed. There was a piano in the lobby with soft music playing over the speakers. He wondered if someone played the piano every now and then or if it was there as decoration.

Moving towards the electronic directory, Derek slid his finger across the screen. There were eight different businesses in the building, but he knew Stiles worked on the seventh floor, so he just checked which floors belonged to what company.

“Hm.” He hadn’t really known what he was expecting, but apparently Stiles worked for an insurance company. One of the top ones in the state, actually. No wonder he was always so busy, he probably _did_  have a cot under his desk.

But then, why only Stiles? Why was he the only one who ever stayed late? They really needed to sort out their staffing in this place.

Deciding he’d snooped enough and not wanting to _really_  be a creeper—no way was Derek going to internet stalk the guy, he wasn’t like that—he figured he should head back to work.

Turning and walking back across the lobby, he’d just about reached the exit when the glass door opened and the person walking through it froze.

Derek also stopped in his steps.

Stiles was in front of him. He was right there, within touching distance, and he had a look of shock and horror and embarrassment on his face. He was still holding his milkshake, the contents having diminished somewhat but not enough to have gone more than halfway down the cup.

Remembering his promise to Boyd, and steeling himself to blurt out something probably horrifically embarrassing, Derek opened his mouth but was interrupted by Stiles before he could say anything.

“You’re fucking gorgeous in person.”

There was a long pause.

“That was my outside voice, wasn’t it?”

Derek let out a small laugh. “Yeah. It was.”

“Of course it was.” Stiles’ neck was beginning to flush, splotches of red appearing on his skin while he shifted his gaze away from Derek, clearly embarrassed. “Well, not like you don’t know how embarrassing I am. Figures the first words out of my mouth would be something stupid.”

“I don’t think you’re embarrassing,” Derek admitted, offering him a small smirk. “Energetic and ridiculous, but not embarrassing.”

“Because that’s _way_  better, obviously.” Stiles rolled his eyes, then cursed and moved out of the doorway when someone cleared their throat loudly behind him. He moved off to the side and Derek followed, not knowing if they’d get this opportunity again.

“I’m Derek,” he offered, holding out his hand.

“Stiles.” The other man shook his hand firmly, fingers cool since he’d been holding his drink before switching hands. “What are you doing on this side of the street?”

“Honestly?” Derek let out an awkward laugh. “Uh, snooping.”

“Snooping?”

“Yeah.”

Another pause.

“On who?”

Derek gave him a look and Stiles spluttered, eyes wide and finger pointing at his own face.

“Wait, on _me_? Why?”

Offering a small shrug, Derek shoved his free hand into the pocket of his expensive pants, trying for nonchalant, and missing by about two miles. The fingers of his other hand tightened around his coffee.

“I was just curious where you worked. You’re always there really late and you come in really early. I don’t know how you have the energy, to be honest. You never seem tired.” He hesitated, and when Stiles opened his mouth to speak, Derek blurted out, “I like watching you dance. It’s... I don’t know. It makes me feel happy.”

Stiles stared at him, mouth still slightly open from his halted words, and he shut it once more, letting out a small laugh and rubbing the back of his head.

“Oh. Um, thanks.”

“Not in a creepy way,” Derek clarified. “I just... have a stressful job. I guess seeing someone as overworked as you still enjoying life and dancing along to the Backstreet Boys is just fun.”

“Well, I’m glad I entertain you enough to make your job less stressful.” Stiles eyed him. “Real Estate agent?”

“Lawyer.”

“Of course. That suit _screams_  money.” Stiles paled. “Sorry, forget I said that. No brain-mouth filter.”

Derek just laughed lightly. “It’s fine. Kind of refreshing to know you speak just like you move. Without a care in the world.”

“Hey, I have cares,” Stiles insisted. “Many cares.”

“Not for your health, clearly.”

“Excuse me, this is a healthy smoothie,” Stiles insisted.

Derek cocked an eyebrow, and smirked a little when Stiles fidgeted under his scrutiny. “I was walking by while you were pouring your milkshake into the cup.”

Stiles let out a bark of laughter, shaking his head. “You know, if I didn’t know you could do better than me, I’d almost think you were stalking me.”

“Hard to stalk someone who works across the street. We just happen to be in the same area. And don’t think I haven’t noticed you sneaking glances at me during the day.”

Stiles sputtered incoherently, but his face went splotchy again when he insisted, “I have not!”

“You’re not subtle.” Derek smirked.

“Fine, you have great cheekbones! Your bone structure is just—” Stiles let out a loud sound of contentment.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Derek said with a small laugh.

Stiles grinned. “You should.”

They were both silent for a moment, watching one another. Then Stiles spoke again.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re not like I expected.”

“Oh?” Derek cocked an eyebrow. “Meaning?”

“Well, you wear expensive suits and always look like you have a stick up your ass keeping your back straight in that chair of yours.” Stiles shrugged. “I guess I figured you’d be a bit of an asshole.”

“I _am_  a bit of an asshole,” Derek admitted. “Clearly not enough of one to scare you off.”

“Nah, I don’t scare that easy.” Stiles grinned, pulling his phone out, presumably to check the time. He winced. “I should head back or I’ll be here all night again.”

“Or you could leave at six and come to dinner with me.”

Stiles’ head shot up and he fumbled his phone, missing his pocket so that it fell from his hand and clattered to the ground. He didn’t seem to notice.

“What?”

Derek tried really hard not to look as nervous as he felt. He hadn’t actually meant to say those words, and while he _was_  interested in getting to know Stiles, and was pleasantly surprised at how well their first meeting seemed to be going, he didn’t think an invite would be accepted given they’d literally _just_  met. The words had kind of come out without his consent.

But, they were out, so he obediently repeated himself while throttling his blush and locking it away into the dark recesses of his closet. “I have a meeting with a client at five. Should be done by half past. I thought maybe we could grab a bite to eat. My treat. If you’re interested.”

Stiles’ mouth was hanging open, but when he seemed to realize that, he hastily snapped it shut and nodded so emphatically he looked like a bobblehead.

“Yeah! Yes, yeah, I’m—that would be amazing.”

The tightness in Derek’s chest loosened a little bit and he smiled, genuinely pleased. It would be nice to talk to Stiles instead of just staring at him from across the road. Not to mention he’d actually get him out of the office at a reasonable hour, for once.

It also gave him a reason to force himself out of the office. Boyd would be proud.

“Great. I’ll meet you back here around five forty-five?”

“Yes! Perfect! Excellent!” Stiles snapped his teeth together, then hastily bent down to pick up his phone, clearly out of sorts. It made Derek wonder if no one had asked him out to dinner before. “I will—I will see you here. At five forty-five. Sharp. I’ll be here. Right here.” He pointed at the ground beneath his feet while backing away.

“Great.” Derek watched Stiles walk backwards towards the elevators. “I’ll be waiting.”

“Cool. Awesome.” Stiles walked into the wall because he wasn’t watching where he was going, almost turned scarlet, then hastily called goodbye and disappeared around the corner to the lifts.

Derek let out a slow breath, still feeling some nerves over what he’d just done. Whether Stiles thought he was gorgeous or not, that had been extremely stressful, so he was glad it went well.

Once it sank in he was going to dinner with him, he felt a ball of warmth spreading through his chest and grinned the whole way back to the office. Erica was there when he showed up, harassing Peter into letting Boyd get a few days off so they could go on a trip.

She noticed his happy mood immediately, and spent ten minutes grilling him until he finally caved and admitted he had a date with Stiles, aka dancing dude, after work today.

Erica commandeered Peter’s computer to blast ABBA’s _Dancing Queen_ through the office.

Derek couldn’t wait to tease Stiles about it when he saw him later.

**END.**

**Author's Note:**

> Teen Wolf (c) Jeff Davis


End file.
